Lachlan studied his profile. “I never thought I’d see the day when Angus the Lion was not hungry for battle.”
“Nor did I. And that’s not to say I won’t get an itch I’ll want to scratch one day in the future. But for now, I have a duty here—to restore Kinloch to the people of my clan and provide stability.”
“A wife and child ought to bring that about.”
“Aye, and in light of that, we need to annihilate the possibility of any further invasions from another ambitious MacEwen chieftain.”
Lachlan leaned forward. “I thought you said you were tired of bloodshed.”
“Aye. I am,” Angus replied. “And I’d prefer it not come to that. I don’t think my intended bride would take kindly to it. He is her brother after all.”
“What is to be done then?”
Angus spoke in a hushed tone. “Send a man to find Murdoch, and make him an offer of land and status. If he wants peace, he will accept.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Angus glanced soberly at Gwendolen, who began to make her way toward the table. “Do what is necessary to ensure peace. There can be no more invasions.”
Lachlan nodded and sat back. “I understand. I’ll put a few hunters on his trail at first light.”
The noise and laughter in the hall subsided as Gwendolen stepped up onto the dais. Angus rose to his feet and held out his hand. She hesitated and eyed it with suspicion before she slipped her tiny fingers into his palm and faced the members of their clans. The hall fell silent and remained so, until Angus and Gwendolen sat down together to eat.
Chapter Five
Gwendolen looked down at the bowl of soup that was placed before her, and breathed in the rich, steaming aroma of meat, swimming in a thick, seasoned broth. In the center of the table, a whole roast pig, golden and crisp, rested on a platter, waiting to be sliced and devoured. She gazed around despondently at the urns of fruit, the shiny candelabras, and all the servants moving about the hall with trays of food, and felt a pounding chaos inside her head that simply would not die.
“I heard rumors,” Angus said, “that you were helpful in the surgery today. That you worked tirelessly, devotedly, and that you were kind and compassionate. It sounds like you were an angel of mercy.”
Gwendolen strove to remind herself that she had promised to be amiable toward him. “I did what I could, though some losses were inevitable. And very great.”
“The men of your clan fought bravely,” he said. “You should be proud.”
“Perhaps that is true, but my pride will not bring that woman’s son back from the dead.” She gestured toward Beth MacEwen, Douglas’s mother, to whom she had just been speaking.
Angus gave her a sharp glance. “Nor does my triumph today restore my father to this chair, lass. Rather it is I who must take his place.”
She recognized the note of displeasure in his voice and took some time to allow the heated moment to cool before she replied. “I am sorry for the loss of your father. It is never an easy thing. As you know, I lost my father, too, and my grief is very recent.”
He inclined his head. “Is this a competition? Do you think that because my father died two years ago, you suffer more?”
“No, I did not mean that—”
“I learned of my father’s death one month ago. For two years, I have lived in exile with no knowledge of it. I was not here to fight at his side, and for that, I will always live with regret.”
She sat quietly, dipping her spoon into the broth. “I’m sorry. I did not realize.” After a brief moment of silence, she added, “I suppose that means we have something in common.”
“And what is that?” he asked impatiently.
“Grief. Four weeks old.”
He studied her profile for a moment, then turned his head the other way to say something to Lachlan, who sat to his left.
Similarly, Gwendolen turned her attention to her mother, who sat beside her, praising the food and the wine as she conversed with the MacDonald clansman who sat to her right.
“Are you learning anything?” Onora discreetly asked Gwendolen, while reaching for a bright red apple.
“I am trying my best.”
